


A Human Connection

by SanoSSagara



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Chronic Pain, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Male Friendship, Mental Health Issues, Phantom pain, Post Blackwatch Genji, Pre-Recall, Recovery, Touch-Starved, Unorthodox Meditation Methods
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 05:35:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13183413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SanoSSagara/pseuds/SanoSSagara
Summary: Genji is broken, jagged and raw. Zenyatta understands that the gentle dogmatic teachings of Mondatta are not what everyone needs. Zenyatta helps Genji come back into harmony - mind, body, and soul (whether Genji wants to or not).  Being touch starved and half out of your mind from pain is never a good place to be, but if there's anywhere and anything that can help it is the Shambali





	1. Chapter 1

‘Poor lost soul’, thought Zenyatta when he came across Genji’s body lying in the snow. Like many others he first thought the prone form before him to be another Omnic - it made sense; who else would seek out the Shambali in the dead of winter? 

But no, when he hoisted the inoperant body from the drifts he discovered that he held a cyborg in his arms. Part flesh, part electronic; both halves damaged badly. The man in his arms responded to the warmth of his processor core by curling closer and Zenyatta’s mind fluttered with relief, “Alive. Good,” 

By the time he reached the monastery Genji shivered violently but still did not open his eyes. 

~~~~~

“Brother Zenyatta… are you well?” Zenyatta turned to greet Mondatta warmly although his transcendent hands never wavered from over the damaged form laid out on a cot in their repair ward.

“I am functioning quite properly, Brother Mondatta,” He canted his head to the side and turned back to his task. 

“I ask because I have not seen you maintain contact with the Iris for this long before. Is their situation so dire?” Mondatta came closer to the cot and peered at Zenyatta’s patient. 

“I am not sure. His soul is far from Harmony - farther than other mechanically enhanced beings I have met. And I have not yet felt his mind awaken. I do not know how he came here but it must have been with the last of his strength,” Zenyatta’s voice synth was soft, “I am in no danger yet, and they are in need of so much healing,” 

Mondatta nodded, “Remember Brother, you help no one if you destroy yourself in the process. If you need help please come find me,” 

Once Mondatta was out of the room, Zenyatta crumpled a bit, letting his weariness show. He was not in danger. Yet. 

~~~

It was four more days before Genji opened his eyes. Another three before he could do more than give weak affirmative or negative responses to questions. Nine days after Zenyatta had found the cyborg almost dead in the snow he learned his name. 

Zenyatta had not touched such Discord as he did in this young man in a long time. Each movement seemed to hurt him, each word seemed to cost him. He all but fled from anything other than the most perfunctory of system repair. But, he stayed. 

He stayed as far as he possibly could from the other monks while still being able to hear their daily meditations, but he stayed. 

Watching Genji flee from the other monks, Zenyatta understood a few things. The man was hurting, Discordant in spirit and body, but he had come to the Shambali some how, for some reason. Zenyatta also understood that dogma, that rote prayer and the motions of acceptance designed for the masses were not always what was needed.

So one day, when he saw Genji lurching through the courtyard, Zenyatta carefully maneuvered himself in such a way that he would be blocking the path but completely hidden from sight. 

The clang that reverberated through him when Genji plowed into him was second only to the strangled yell that accompanied Genji’s acrobatic retreat. Crouched low, sword drawn, fans whirring to re-regulate internal mechanisms, it was clear that Genji had been lost in thought and let his guard down; after all, who would expect attack in a monastery of peaceful omnic monks?

“My apologies Genji,” Zenyatta hovered serenely closer, ignoring the flashing lights and hissing vents, “But I am surprised you were so unaware of your surroundings,”

At the insult, Genji grew rigid but sheathed his weapon, “My apologies Brother Zenyatta,” 

Genji turned on his heel and walked away, but Zenyatta floated after him, 

“Perhaps meditation will help your awareness of the Now,” He mused. Genji remained silent but his gait widened. Effortlessly Zenyatta matched his pace, “But you really are terrible at it,” He chuckled. 

Genji wheeled around to face him, an aborted retort on his lips but instead he jumped the path to escape up the side of the courtyard walls. Zenyatta watched him disappear, cataloguing the visceral reaction as a success; it was the most life the cyborg had shown since arriving. 

~~~~~

Genji seethed in the room Mondatta had allocated to him. He ricocheted from wall to wall in agitation, roughly shoving his chair and simple cot, slamming his hands on the windowsill. He only stopped when he caught the edge of the desk with his foot - corner biting into a gap in his armor and lighting his servos and neural network up with pain. 

With a curse he crumpled, furious at the irony that a perfect killing machine, a grotesque, mangled monstrosity such as himself, could still stub a toe. The pain and shock ripped what little composure he had away. Just like the jarring shock of bumping into Brother Zenyatta had. 

Zenyatta. Zenyatta infuriated him. The Omnic Monk with too much time on his hands who was different than all the other machines around him in dozens of tiny ways but none more glaringly obvious, glaringly annoying than in his punkish attitude. He pushed and prodded and incessantly pursued Genji’s wellbeing. It was alien and uncomfortable for the ninja to experience. 

Not that the soft flow of the rest of the Shambali felt any better… They were all too peaceful, too accepting. They were a drone of voices and rhythmic movement that blurred at the edges of his senses day to day. And he itched like a burr caught in their silken shroud. 

Why did he expect more from these robots? These creations parroting platitudes and dogmatic acceptance. The softness of the monastery made him feel all the more jagged. But where would he go? He had no home, he had no life. No purpose other than to kill and he. He didn’t want to. He didn’t know how to live but he didn’t want to kill anymore. 

He came here because where else did the soulless go? But these Monks, with their humble robes and clean hands, with their naive desire to couple man and machine and life together in peace...

His body ached as he lay on the floor. It felt like knives were digging into him where his flesh met metal and carbon fiber, and he could feel his pulse like the boil of lava under synthetic skin. His right arm throbbed like it was going to disintegrate. Or explode. Or swell 10 times it size. He was filled with painful, uncomfortable pressure. He could feel it drag along his bones like a living thing. An invisible meat hook was lodged in his joints and pulled at him. His nerves were frayed by the constant sensation of static feedback. It never stopped. It never stilled. 

He wished he could cry. He wished he could saw his limbs off. He wished he was dead. 

No. He’d already died and this wretched body was his hell. The blood that wouldn’t wash from his wiring was the chains that bound him to the ground. The roiling guilt in his stomach was the disease eating at him. With a mechanical sounding sigh, the fight left his body and he let his head loll to the side. 

He wished Doctor Zeigler had just completed the process. Wiped the memories from him. Wiped the emotions from him. Made him fully a machine so he didn’t need to feel this pain. 

He wished that whatever lingered of his mind would have just fled with his soul. 

~~~~~

It continued like that for a few more days before Genji’s thin control snapped entirely. It’s was probably the fifth time that day that Zenyatta had maneuvered himself directly into Genji’s path in such a way that collision was unavoidable. The solid thud and shrill clang of his armor meeting the Omnic’s body reverberated through Genji, fairly rattling his teeth. 

Pain. Danger. Under Attack. 

The rage that welled up inside him from being attacked whited out his mind. He’d sprung back, drew his blade, and surged forward before the echoes of their contact had even faded from the mountainside. 

Zenyatta sidestepped his forward attack easily - and it spurred Genji on, quickly realize that a floating opponent did not telegraph their feints and would not be so simple to dispatch. Slashing faster, turning sharper, a swift thrust that passed only through air turning seamlessly into a backhanded attack - but Zenyatta was always just out of reach. 

Genji could feel his joints scream when he skidded to a stop and quickly changed direction again, hitting the wall to arc over Zenyatta - as he sailed overhead, twisting, three shuriken dropped into his hand and he fired them off at the monk in quick succession, aiming for the Omnic’s exposed vertebral column. 

He heard the stars connect with metal and a surge of sick satisfaction pushed the rage aside long enough to let some of his senses clear - and in that space sudden horror coursed in icy waves down his body - He had just attacked a Shambali Monk, he’d likely killed Zenyatta, he really was nothing more than a blind, blood covered weapon that had turned on the first thing to show concern for him in years. 

But then the sound of his shuriken hitting the dirt reached his ears over the roar of shame and revulsion in him. He turned slowly, startled to see Zenyatta still floating serenely barely ten feet away. The Monk studied one of his floating orbs with a canted head before looking back to Genji. The small metal sphere swiveled and Genji saw a fresh gouge in the decorated surface. Two other orbs bore similar punctures. Shame chased panicked relief that he’d not killed Zenyatta, and he started stuttering out - what? An apology for trying to kill him? Excuses that he’d been startled?

Half formed words died in his throat when Zenyatta laughed his queer, synthesized Omnic laugh and said, “I win this round, Genji,” 

“Nani?” his own voice synth cracked. He took a single staggering step forward before regaining his composure. 

Zenyatta merely made a show of dusting his pants before smugly saying,

Could Omnics even be smug?

“Do not be discouraged, everyone begins in ignorance,”

“Discouraged?! I almost killed you!,” Genji threw his hand out, pointing to the shuriken in the dirt, “How can you be so calm?!”

“I am calm because I know that you cannot harm me, Genji,” Zenyatta pitched to scoop the shuriken up. He did not offer then back however. 

Genji’s temper flared and he flashed forward, blade at the cables that made up Zenyatta’s neck, “If I wanted to your head would be rolling down this mountain,” he hissed. 

Zenyatta merely turned to look down at him more clearly, studying the visor that concealed his scarred face, “Is that indeed what you want?”

Genji wanted to slice through the Omnic’s neck. Wanted to eliminate the annoying nuisance. Wanted to…

Wanted to…

“I want…” He let his blade drop. His body ached. He could feel the adrenaline ebbing away but it left behind a wake of static and pressure on his bones. Straightening up made his implants scream, and he staggered back, “...I want…”

The buzzing in his body roared to a crescendo in his ears and suddenly Genji wasn’t hearing anything else. Then, like the iris of a migraine reopening after the pain had passed, there was a spot of stillness. 

That stillness radiated from his chest until the white noise died down and he was able to concentrate again. Zenyatta was closer now, hand held out in a peaceful gesture. One of his orbs was pressed to Genji’s sternum, a cool metal pressure pulsing with golden light. Zenyatta’s outstretched fingers wavered and the orb pulsed brighter and pushed back harder. Genji realized that he was almost leaning all of his weight on it, bearing down on the small object until he was certain there was a bruise forming under his chestplate. He allowed himself to sag against that unyielding force for a moment more before pulling back to his own feet. 

In the silence that grew between them, Genji struggled. Zenyatta did not withdraw the orb which was now bobbing in front of Genji’s mask in sync with the floating Monk.

“Breathe with Harmony, Genji” Zenyatta’s voice was calm, but loud enough to be heard over the buzzing in his body that was slowly returning. He lifted his palm and the orb rose with it. Genji inhaled. Down came the palm, down went the orb, Genji’s breath hissed through the vent in his faceplate. Zenyatta did not come closer, did not speak again, and for long minutes Genji just breathed. 

~~~~~

And so their days fell into a pattern of sorts. When Genji’s nerves had frayed too far they would meet in the courtyard by unspoken agreement in a clatter of metal against metal. Unlike the first day, Genji now landed blows as often as he took them. Each time a strike connected without the chase of blood, he felt an old emotion regrow in what remained of his chest. 

Two weeks found him lying on his back in the dust Laughing. Laughing like he hadn’t in years, like he hadn’t since before even his days in Blackwatch. Oxygen sensors flared to life in the video screen of his visor, but still he laughed. 

Zenyatta had feinted to the left ducking under a powerful attack, had grabbed Genji’s wrist and hip. In one smooth motion, like a dancer, Zenyatta spun and threw Genji head over heels onto the ground. The impact resounded through his body and rather than roll, rather than jump back to his feet to counterattack, Genji let the air rush from his lungs in a booming laugh. Giddy, punch drunk emotion surfaced with that laughter, and for a moment Genji was whole again; enjoying the satisfaction of sparring with his brother in the dojo of their home. 

Abruptly Genji’s laughter turned to broken gasps, the prickle in his eyes told him that had he still possessed tear ducts he would be sobbing. Zenyatta appeared at his side, moving serenely and waving an orb of Harmony toward Genji. That now familiar, comforting weight rested on his chest and he gripped at it with clawing hands. 

When his lungs reregulated themselves, and he was finally able to breathe without sharp pain in his chest, Genji released the orb and instead covered his faceplate with his hands. It was a human gesture, left over from when he still was one, but it brought him comfort nonetheless. 

Genji waited; ashamed, embarrassed, not sure of what to say about his outburst. But Zenyatta just floated there and gazed around as snowflakes began to fall. Genji watched as the delicate crystals began to pile up on his armor, beautiful in their geometry. A quick glance at Zenyatta revealed an unexpected sight. The Omnic had turned his palms to the sky, face turned up with his array blinking steadily. But unlike Genji, the little flakes of white were melting on his body. Droplets of water formed on his faceplate, making the lights of his array twinkle, and eventually rivulets snaked thin lines in the dust on Zenyatta’s chest.

Genji watched, with gross jealousy burning in his gut, proof that Zenyatta, an Omnic created in a factory, had more humanity to him than he did. Whatever warmth came from Genji’s skin was trapped under his armor, banished away from another’s touch. He sat up abruptly and without care for the orb that fell to the ground and rolled a few feet before Zenyatta’s energy retrieved it. 

“Genji, what troubles you?” Finally Zenyatta spoke. 

“Nothing, Brother Zenyatta,” how was someone supposed to explain that they were jealous of body heat?

“Nothing would not make such disquiet surge in your soul,” came the level reply. 

Genji flinched away. His soul. 

Zenyatta did not let the silence stretch longer, “You are excelling in your meditation. I hope you allow yourself pride in that accomplishment,” 

“My meditation?” Genji looked back, “I don’t know if I would call it excelling. Or even progress. I can barely sit still through the prayers,” he ground his teeth. The prayers were half the problem, he thought. Platitudes and talk of self worth and all so, so, so soft. 

Again that was the difference between Zenyatta and the other Shambali. He was never soft like them. His voice always crackled and popped, it was always louder than the others’. And Genji appreciated it. Softness only served to show how broken he really was. Softness wouldn’t have sent him flying into the dirt in a rare and desperately needed moment of inner peace. 

The look Zenyatta gave him was nothing short of exasperated; face array flaring briefly then muting, head turned to look down at Genji, shoulders hunched in a robotic sigh. He lowered himself until he sat on the actual ground with Genji, knees a scant few inches from Genji’s armor. 

“You are… not very quick on the uptake, are you, Genji?”

Genji bristled, his shoulders tensing. He’d never handled being teased well, and certainly his attitude toward it hadn’t changed now. 

Zenyatta waved a hand around, “What do you call this if not meditation? Does your mind not clear and focus only on the now?” a staticky chuckle, “Or a futile attempt at guessing my next move, perhaps,” 

Genji’s eyebrows shot upward, not that Zenyatta could see the dumbfounded look on his face, and he mumbled, “I never thought of it like that...”

“You have much to learn. There are no singular paths to what you seek - but… If you do not change direction, you may end up where you are headed, and I fear that your destination is not a pleasant one, Genji,”

“What I seek…” leaned forward and put his face in his hands, elbows on his knees. He felt very small sitting next to Zenyatta in the snow, “What I seek is unattainable Brother Zenyatta,” 

“Why come here then, if you truly think that?” It wasn’t accusatory, Zenyatta’s voice held real interest. 

“Because I had nowhere else to go,” Genji said, voice lifeless. 

“Then there is nothing to be lost in trying,” Zenyatta clapped his hands together and got to his feet; the sharp clang startled Genji as much as seeing the Omnic actually standing, “Genji. What is it you seek?”

Genji looked up at Zenyatta, blinking when even his visor could not filter out all of the glaring sunlight reflected from the Monk’s gleaming body, “Brother Zenyatta why do you care? Why do all this?” He waved his arms, “I know you think you were safe but I could have destroyed you that first time. Why are you continually putting yourself in danger like this?” 

“I have said before, Genji, you cannot hurt me. Rage, confusion, sadness… the Discord in your soul dulls your blade, slows your reflexes, clouds your mind. I am not so fragile as you think, and you not the monster you fear you are. I wish to know the doubts that plague you, and I wish to help ease your mind and soul,” 

“But what if I don’t have a soul?” Genji whispered, the words sneaking out in a breath of fear. He wished he could take them back. 

Zenyatta crouched down until he was eye level and steepled his fingers. It was a very human gesture, “You think you do not have a soul, Genji?”

The ninja squirmed. He had no words, but still he babbled, “I can’t. I am... just a tool to be used for destruction. My heart beats, but I died long ago. I cannot, I cannot feel anything but pain and anger and I am only useful as a weapon! They only saved enough of my body to attach their implants to and they say I’m still here but how can I be-,” 

Zenyatta let him speak, let the words rush out in an anxious burst, and then opened his hands, offering them palm up to Genji. Genji looked at the worn and scratched metal, then back to Zenyatta’s face in confusion. The Monk flexed his fingers a bit, clearly waiting. Genji stared back at Zenyatta’s hands. He was very careful not to touch any of the monks here. He was very careful not to touch anyone, really. If it wasn’t maintence, or violence, or the most dire of situations, he did not want anyone to feel the cold metal and carbon fiber of his form. Did not want to see how they flinched away from him. Zenyatta was the exception, but even then their contact had been limited to their sparring matches. 

He reached out, hands faltering. But Zenyatta did not move. With a steeling breath, Genji placed his hands in Zenyatta’s outstretched ones and allowed the Omnic to haul him to his feet. 

“Thank y-,” Genji’s words were cut off by a firm embrace. Zenyatta had tugged him close, wrapped his arms around him, hands flat against Genji’s back. Genji stiffened automatically, but then he was clinging to the Monk, faceplate pressed into where the Zenyatta’s neck pistons connected to his shoulder. 

A hug. How long had it been since he’d been hugged. How long had someone touched him without fear and revulsion, or scientific fascination. How long since someone had held him, comforted him. His shoulders shuddered, emotional, desperate for the connection but terrified that soon the pain of contact would surface. It always did. Soon the static would ride over his limbs until he ached and wished for nothing more than the oblivion of unconsciousness. 

Instead, he just felt the pressure of Zenyatta’s embrace. There was no static, no pain, no blurry roar of feedback from his nerves. He could feel the sharp points of Zenyatta’s chassis pressing into his own armor but it wasn’t overwhelming him. He could feel the low vibration of Zenyatta’s inner machinations but it didn’t clang against the quiver he usually felt inside. And like a life saving salve, he could feel warmth radiating out from deep inside Zenyatta’s chest. But he felt no pain. 

~~~~~

His pattern changed again. Now Genji sought Zenyatta out daily for sparring, and afterwards, a grounding hug. Life in the temple began to feel real to him, like he belonged with the Shambali instead of being a dangerous nightmare in their dreamy little world. Genji spent more time out of his quarters, more time listening to the other monks instead of being a silent ghost. He learned names and personalities and he took on chores and tasks to give his time meaning. He took moments to appreciate the sunlight, or the smell of the fresh mountain air, or how the snow glistened under the moon. He found himself laughing at the jokes the Omnics told, learning more of what their humor and personalities could be. 

He was more comfortable than he had been in ages, in a lifetime. And that proved to be the next breaking point. 

Genji lay sprawled in the dirt, laughing breathlessly as Zenyatta hovered above him, array twinkling with the Omnic’s laughter as well. 

“Once again you’ve bested me, Brother Z-….” All at once roaring filled Genji’s ears and his tongue glued to his synthetic hard palate. His vision swam as a memory crashed over his senses. Blood. And a blade. Blue Dragons. The taste of blood the taste of blood the taste of blood - 

He couldn’t hear Zenyatta. Or he could, but it was like the Monk’s voice was filtering through a brick wall. Muted. Dumb on Genji’s ears as the wet, slapping, slashing noise of a butcher’s cleaver overpowered the here and now. His body went rigid, snapping into a grotesque shape as he clawed at his chest, his throat, his shoulders. It wasn’t a butcher’s knife. It was the sound of his brother’s katana hacking into his flesh. 

The taste of blood the taste of blood the taste of blood. Choke out the words. Choke on the blood. Choke on the joke. He’d always known he’d die making a joke. CHOKE. 

~~~~~

The noise Genji made froze Zenyatta right down to his subroutines. It was an animalistic shriek of pain, distorted by the overtaxed voice synth. Until Genji had made that horrifying noise, Zenyatta was more or less in control of himself. Worried, confused, but in control. He’d been hesitant to touch the other while so clearly in the throes of some type of episode, instead charging his orbs with comforting, healing energy and speaking calmly, soothingly repeating the mantra of prayer that he found Genji favored above others. 

But then that horrible, frightened, anguished, shriek clawed it’s way from Genji’s throat. Zenyatta almost fell on Genji’s prone body, but recovered just barely and crouched over him instead. His hands shot forward but he stalled - was it wise to touch Genji? Should he wait the episode out? Would touching him make it worse? The last time his impulse to touch the cyborg had turned out favorable but he knew just how lucky he was that his spur of the moment decision to hug Genji hadn’t undone all of their work together. 

A second, shuddering, gasping howl of anguish and pain made Zenyatta’s decision for him. He scooped Genji from the dirt and icy slush of the courtyard and cradled him close to his chest. The first time he had found Genji in the snow the man had been silent, almost dead, but his human nature had sought out the warm of Zenyatta’s core. Many humans were surprised at how warm most Omnics were. Unless concealed behind heavy armor… Zenyatta shook his head. 

This time Genji fought against him. Hands like talons scraped across Zenyatta’s faceplate. Lights and fans and cybernetic features flickered and screamed under duress as Genji’s body tried to keep up with wherever his mind was, tried to compensate for what was actually happening in face of the input given by his brain. 

Zenyatta turned quickly, intent on rushing Genji to the repair ward, but then with an explosive surge of electricity and a last scream, this time more than just aimless, painful sound, Genji’s entire body went dark and slack in Zenyatta’s arms. The screaming stopped. Genji’s breathing stopped altogether. His heart stopped. Panic consumed Zenyatta. 

“MONDATTA,” 

~~~~~

Mondatta found them in a much similar situation as he had the first time. Genji unconscious, Zenyatta with his transcendent arms gleaming an optic array searing gold. But unlike last time…

Genji was cradled in Zenyatta’s physical arms, Zenyatta’s body hunched protectively over him like a terrified animal. Zenyatta’s arms did not hover serenely over Genji’s form this time - instead, golden hands gripped whatever limb they could reach and the strain of effort sparked around the two figures like lightning. Zenyatta’s orbs collided with each other as they swirled haphazardly around him. 

“Brother Zenyatta, what happened?” No response, “Zenyatta?” Mondatta approached cautiously, with a growing foreboding in his core. He could not detect a heartbeat from Genji. Zenyatta wailed, his mantra nearly unintelligible as he poured the harmonic, healing energy of his connection with the Iris into the still form in his arms. 

Mondatta reached out, calmly gripping Zenyatta’s shoulder. A full body jolt shook him when the discord that wracked his brother crashed into his own mind. Mondatta’s processor stuttered a moment, and he placed his other hand over Zenyatta’s on Genji’s chestplate. 

“Zenyatta, experience tranquility. Panic will not help Genji,” Zenyatta gave no indication he had even heard his brother’s voice, “Zenyatta!” a little shake. 

“Mon.Dat.Ta,” Zenyatta voice was staticky, disregulated, “Monda.Ta. Help!” 

Had Mondatta ever heard his brother sound so lost? So frightened? Perhaps in the beginning, when they had first met, first discovered that spark that allowed them to buck their programming to become the individuals they were now. But since then, since those first few rocky months of self discovery, Zenyatta had cultivated and worn his confident and, at times yes, snarky, personality with grace and peace no matter the circumstances. 

Mondatta hummed, leaning forward until his forehead pressed against Zenyatta’s and spoke, “His heart Zenyatta. You need to restart his heart,” 

Zenyatta nodded shakily, then seemed to steel himself - at any rate the quaking in his frame stopped and his orbs regained their careful circular movements. He readjusted his grip on Genji and then all 3 sets of golden hands overlapped on Genji’s chest. In a move that mimicked a deep breath, Zenyatta’s energy pulsed and shot through Genji’s heart.

Once. 

Twice. 

Three times. 

Wretched gasping filled the oppressive silence of the courtyard, a stark contrast to Zenyatta’s exclamation of joy. The Monk curled his body around Genji’s, voice synth stuttering as he sobbed in relief. Transcendent hands roamed frantically, touching Genji’s faceplate, the back of his head, his chest and arms, his legs, curling around his back and dragging his body as close to Zenyatta as possible. 

Mondatta kept his hand on Zenyatta’s shoulder, watching with interest as the other cradled Genji’s body. It wasn’t what he expected, though he knew that the two had grown closer as of late. Omnic’s did not tend to desire or have a use for physical affection, for actual touch. Yes, he had his hand as a steadying pressure on Zenyatta’s shoulder, but it was a decidedly human action - learned and propagated to put the humans they interacted with at ease. 

Omnics, well, many of them designed to work closely with humans, had the programming within them to react with what humans deemed appropriate emotions depending on the situation. After the awakening call of the Iris, after the Crisis… Emotional displays were not for everyone - human or otherwise. But Omnics in general were better in control of their emotions. 

It was unusual that Zenyatta was being so vocal, so openly distraught. Acting so ‘human’ as some would say. Sobbing did not have the same release of hormones in an Omnic mind as it did in a human’s. Bodily contact did not have the same effect on an Omnic as it would a human either. Mondatta had the sensory ability, as did Zenyatta, to hear Genji’s heartbeat, hear his breath. He did not need to hold his hand to the slight opening of Genji’s mask to feel the breath. He did not need to put his ear to the man’s chest to hear his heart. But that was just what Zenyatta was doing. 

Occasionally Mondatta wished he had a more emotive face. This was one of those moments. He wished he could smile fondly at his friend. He could not, so,

“He is alive, Zenyatta. You’ve saved him once again,” 

“He was Dead, Mondatta,” Zenyatta’s voice cracked, “I don’t know what happened. It was so sudden… so violent. He was in so much anguish that he died?” Zenyatta trailed off in a hopeless question. 

“What happened Brother?”

“Meditation. Sparring. I threw him but I did not think it would do such DAMAGE! He had even laughed. He said I had bested him once again... and then he was swallowed by Discord,” 

Zenyatta shuddered, clearly replaying in his mind the moments that led till now. Then, calmer, “I believe he had a, a mental episode. I can only suspect it was a flashback? Perhaps to a battle or.... Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps,” a sigh, “I can only know what I saw happening. I do not know what he was thinking about when it happened and to speculate will do no good here,” 

Mondatta stood and helped Zenyatta get to his feet without disturbing Genji too much. Zenyatta was cradling the cyborg as gently as possible, his careful movements belied by the increasingly annoyed, reverberating hum he was voicing. 

“Brother, speak your mind,” Mondatta’s voice synth was soft and even. 

“He’s... fine,” Zenyatta’s reply was short and curt, but then the Transcendent Arms retracted and he clutched Genji’s body a little tighter, “He is physically fine. There are no malfunctions, no injuries. He isn’t even bruised anymore, Mondatta,” 

“And you are worried because he has not woken up yet,” Mondatta nodded, “I agree it is… odd that one with no malfunctions would remain unconscious like this - especially after you connect with the Iris,” 

Zenyatta nodded back, “Yes, but. Mondatta. Brother, his heart stopped. Whatever just happened… it literally killed him to experience,” a shudder that was more than just adaptive programming rippled through Zenyatta. 

“Humans react very viscerally when visited by traumatic memories,” Mondatta offered blandly. He knew it wasn’t much, but he didn’t know what else to say. Zenyatta had always possessed more emotion, more understanding of the organic experience than he. Zenyatta, to put it simply, was more human. What Mondatta knew about the inner workings of Human mental health he had learned from Zenyatta. Mondatta knew the masses… Zenyatta knew the people themselves. 

“I want to help him,” it was quiet, like a confession Zenyatta feared Mondatta would admonish him for admitting, “I have been very proud of him in the last few weeks. I will tell him that when he wakes up,” 

“I think that he will appreciate hearing those words, Brother Zenyatta, I truly do,” Mondatta stopped with Zenyatta at the main entrance to the Monastary. Zenyatta had taken a step toward the repair ward and then stilled. His frame wavered as he debated a second step, or turning the other way. Toward their personal quarters. 

“You said he is undamaged, physically, yes?” Mondatta asked, “If he needs no bodily repairs… no healing, then surely he will be more comfortable waking up in the comfort of a bed than the repair ward,” 

It was all the validation Zenyatta needed to speed off toward the living area with Genji’s still body, dropping a hasty agreement over his shoulder in his hurry. 

Mondatta shook his head fondly, then his array darkened with worry. Zenyatta believed in helping others, while he believed in helping society. Mondatta was … prepared to accept that not everyone; omnic, human, or otherwise, could be saved in the end. Zenyatta did not. He hoped Genji would awaken soon - for Zenyatta’s sake.

~~~~~

Zenyatta walked rather than float. The rhythmic sound of his footsteps served to ground his fraying nerves. Shuffle, click, click, shuffle, walking fast enough that the fraying hem of his dhoti fluttered around his ankles. Genji’s quarters were at the end of the hall, he could see the broken door propped in the frame. Zenyatta’s footsteps stilled. He looked to his side, at his own door, then pack down the hall. Genji’s room had holes the cyborg had put into the walls. It was dark because of the windowshade he’d broken. It held more memories for him - Zenyatta had seen the painting and the small keepsakes. He didn’t know what else Genji would see, would remember, if he woke up in there surrounded by his past. He didn’t know what Genji had experienced just now. The man’s room was filled with just too many variables. 

Zenyatta hummed. It wasn’t a gamble he was willing to take. Shouldering open his own door, he reasoned that it would also be best if Genji were close to him, and in his own room Zenyatta would be able to use his charging station without leaving his friend alone. 

Standing there Zenyatta saw a small problem; he did not possess a bed in his quarters. He shifted uncomfortably a moment. Did he lay Genji on the floor for the time being? Would the bare flagstone be too cold for him? 

A quick knock at his door broke his anxiously spiraling thought process. 

“Brother Zenyatta? Brother Mondatta told us you might be in need of some assistance,” Sister CODA’s slightly garbled voice gave him a moment’s notice before the door opened to reveal three Shambali Monks bearing gifts. CODA held Genji’s bed easily over her shoulder, Sister Opeth’s single arm was laden with bedding, and Brother Sepultura balanced a tray laden with food and water, as well as a teapot. 

Sister CODA jerked her head to indicate the tray of food, “Brother Mondatta explained that Genji might be hungry when he awoke. And that you were keeping him under observation here so…” a heft of the bed, “He asked us to bring these to you,” 

Zenyatta’s forehead array flashed warmly, his core processor whirring with emotion. His Brothers and Sisters here were kind hearted souls, and he cherished that. 

If his voice flickered more than normal when he thanked them and directed where to put the bedding and tray the others had the decency to not comment on it. They helped him arrange Genji’s still unresponsive form on the bed, padding his head and neck, covering him with a blanket against the natural chill of the old Monastery in winter, and then made their way out. Sister CODA paused in the doorway, and Zenyatta saw the muted lights under her smooth faceplate shift from him, to Genji, and back again. 

“The Iris be with you both, Brother Zenyatta,” She said after a pause. Zenyatta wondered what she had planned to say at first... but it was no matter; Genji was as comfortable as he could make him, and according to all of Zenyatta’s sensory ability he was in no physical danger whatsoever. Now Zenyatta merely had to wait for him to regain consciousness. 

So Zenyatta folded his legs back into his accustomed floating lotus position and bowed his head. He would meditate until Genji stirred. 

After a moment he rolled the pistons and gears that made up his shoulders, hearing the pressure locks release in his spine with tiny puffs of air. 

His fingers twitched again and he repositioned his hands in his lap. 

He twisted to realign his acetabulofemoral joints, feeling small burrs of metal rasp in the sockets. Idly he knew he would need to perform repairs on himself soon as well. 

He grabbed an orb from it’s circuit and shined it on his sash. Now the rest seemed too dingy. Ten minutes passed as he polished and inspected his mala, turning the worn orbs over in his fingers.

He settled back in the air again, in perfect form, but an askew knickknack on his desk caught his attention and he floated over to rearrange his things. He toyed with the small nutcracker for a moment before putting it back in its place. Then shifted it to the left. To the right. Rotated it so that the doll faced the door. Turned it back to staring straight ahead from its perch. 

Zenyatta snatched his hands back to his lap with a burst of anxiety he couldn’t control. Now that he was certain Genji was as safe and as comfortable as he could make him, there was nothing left to distract him from fretting over his friend. From replaying the moments before his episode over and over again. He had done all he could, so all that was left to do was worry. 

Last time Genji had been unconscious for four whole days. Last time, Zenyatta reminded himself, Genji had been suffering severe frostbite, hypothermia, and a myriad of lacerations, broken bones, and structural damage. 

This time he was dead, a small voice whispered. Zenyatta’s internal fans whirled as he angrily pushed that thought away. But no, he pantomimed taking a deep breath - even without lungs the motion, the sound, the act of breathing was a grounding thing, and brought that thought back to the forefront of his mind. Holding an orb and turning it over in his fingers like he was manipulating the thought itself he forced himself to think critically of the situation.  
Yes. Genji’s heart had stopped. 

That horrible stillness. 

Yes, his lungs had stopped. 

That atrocious noise. 

Yes, Genji had died. 

Screaming. In his arms. In PAIN. 

But Zenyatta had restarted his heart. His lungs were working. He was alive. Just unconscious. Not dead. 

“You will be okay, my friend,” Zenyatta had ended up hovering beside Genji’s head. Zenyatta sank to the floor, and rested his forehead against the hard metal of Genji’s shoulder, “You will be. Okay,” 

With that small bit of contact, and with those words as a new mantra, Zenyatta finally managed to fall into meditation.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mondatta worries. Compassion Fatigue, burnout, and attaching yourself too personally to those you are trying to help can all turn destructive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: Mondatta speaks with the frustrated voice of every social worker, therapist, or other counselor type person I've ever known. Sometimes you just wanna SHAKE people.   
> A shorter chapter because it seemed like the most DRAMATIC place to stop :D

Mondatta lingered outside his brother’s doorway the next evening. He hadn’t seen so much as a servo of Zenyatta since watching him carry Genji away. Morning prayer, no, Mondatta wasn’t surprised by Zenyatta’s lack of attendance but when noon and then evening prayer too had passed without even a word he grew worried. 

Now, standing outside that closed door, Mondatta fidgeted. It was very frustrating for him - who regularly spoke in front of gargantuan crowds honing his ability to elicit just the right emotions in people - to be at such a loss for words when it was his own brother who needed comfort. 

Now, Mondatta certainly did not startle when Zenyatta opened the door and interrupted his downcast worrying, but it was a near thing. 

“Brother!” He exclaimed, hoping to appear as though he hadn’t just spent the last ten minutes wearing his footprints into the stone floor. 

“Brother,” Zenyatta’s faceplace was dingy, facial array muted like his voice, “How are you?”

“Zenyatta… I think the more important question is…” Mondatta hesitated, then cast his glance back into the room where Genji lay asleep on the cot. He refocused his gaze on Zenyatta’s tiredly hunched form and bowed his head a little, upset that he has already failed in his objective, “How is Genji?”

“He is much the same,” Zenyatta said hollowly, stepping back to let Mondatta into his quarters. Mondatta took stock of the immaculate room, something that to his knowledge had never been seen again since the monastery's construction. Zenyatta liked to intone that a mind could only be at peace if the body was at peace - and he was most comfortable in a place that looked “Lived In” as he called it. Mondatta called it a mess; his brother always had his books out - left open facedown where Zenyatta had stopped reading, or cluttered his desk with momentos of the places they’d been to speak at or joyful memories. 

Collecting curios was anothering thing Mondatta felt was very organic of Zenyatta.

However, his brother’s room looked anything but organic at the moment. Everything was set into perfect order. Books on shelves in alphabetical order. Curtains carefully drawn open and pinned in place with a sash that was perfectly aligned and creased. Zenyatta’s desk looked freshly waxed, and not a single paper or momento was out of place. 

The tiny nutcracker Zenyatta had received as a gift from the village children last winter sat in a neatly ordered row along with the tiny sugar skull painted with Zenyatta’s faceplate and jieba and other small knick knacks from their travels.

There wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere in the room, the spiderwebs normally given safe passage in high corners were missing as well - though no doubt the tiny occupants had been transferred gently elsewhere. All of the shining order and neatness made Zenyatta’s condition even more apparent. 

Zenyatta moved slowly, and the grime collected on the hem of his dhoti, on his hands and face, showed that while he’d cleaned the room thoroughly he’d been neglecting himself. Mondatta wondered if he’d even charged the night before. 

Worry was eating his brother from the motherboard out. 

Mondatta steeled himself to try again, “How are… you, Zenyatta?”

“I am Fine Brother Mondatta,” came the clipped reply as Zenyatta anxiously fiddled with his worn copy of Lovecraft’s anthology. 

“You once told me that the most common lie Humans tell each other is ‘I’m Fine’,” Mondatta tried to put gentle humor into his voice, to mask the worry. 

“I am an Omnic, Brother Mondatta,” Zenyatta swayed on his feet. That was another worrisome detail. Mondatta knew that his brother prefered to float, preferred to carry himself above the chance of harming insects or plants. Prefered to ‘look cool’, as Mondatta truly suspected. 

Was Zenyatta’s heart so low that he could not? Or was his energy too low to do it? Either way, Mondatta wasn’t happy. 

“Zenyatta-,” it came out harsher than he wanted, and even Zenyatta flinched away from him. Mondatta shrunk back even though they were still feet apart. He sighed, and tried again, “My dear… you are clearly Not fine. Please, talk to me,” 

The tremor was easy to miss. Perhaps anyone but an Omnic would have. But to Mondatta it was stark proof of how dysregulated his friend had become. It started in Zenyatta’s hands, a tiny quiver he tried to hide with a tight grip on his chair. Mondatta could hear the wood groan in protest. Mondatta wished he could wave his hands and make everything right again, fix this horrible situation.

Fix Genji. ‘Well,’ Mondatta thought, FIXING others was impossible. You could only give them the tools they needed to help themselves. Give them the support they needed. Be there. But it never made it easier to feel so helpless when someone else was hurting. 

Zenyatta knew this as well as he did. And it was frustrating. 

“What do you need, brother?” Mondatta whispered. 

Zenyatta turned away from him, shoulders shaking. They were opposites, the two of them. As different now as they’d been identical when they were first created. Mondatta stood with his hands neatly folded into his sleeves, body at rest, head bowed slightly. Zenyatta’s shoulders were hunched and his shivering was pronounced now as he teetered unsteadily.

Mondatta reached out when Zenyatta crumpled, but it was unnecessary. Zenyatta collapsed into the chair and cradled his faceplate in his hands, “Mondataa…” he moaned, miserable, “Why hasn’t he woken up yet?” 

Pulling back, composing himself, Mondatta paused. His first thought was that Genji might -not- wake up at all, but he… Zenyatta knew that, he was sure. It would only hurt his friend more to speak those words aloud. Zenyatta knew the harsh reality, he was familiar with pain and anguish in the world just as Mondatta was. Mondatta had seen Zenyatta listen to heartbreak, knelt down in the mud and mire, and help those he held to stand tall again. Mondatta had seen him speak calmly, peacefully, eloquently, assuage the fear and anger omics and humans held deep inside in the wake of the Wars. They had worked for years in balance with one another, helping entire communities heal. 

Mondatta clenched his fist. 

“Zenyatta, I am… certain… that Genji will wake up,” he glanced at the still form on the bed, “And I am more than certain that he will not take kindly to seeing how you’ve neglected yourself,” 

Zenyatta shrugged, “I am Fine, Mondatta,” 

“You are Not!” 

“Mondatta just leave me be,” Zenyatta sounded so tired, “Please, brother,” 

He looked small, and delicate, clothing tattered and hunched over in the chair. Mondatta slowly came closer, moving to kneel in front of Zenyatta when the other gave no sign of pushing him away. 

Mondatta peered up at Zenyatta’s face plate and took out a small handkerchief. He gently brushed the dust from Zenyatta’s array, letting the blue lights shine just a bit brighter. Zenyatta looked at his friend, weariness in every cable, and leaned forward until his forehead rested against Mondatta’s shoulder. 

“Mondatta, what if he doesn’t wake up? Should I bring him to a human hospital?” Zenyatta’s voice was calmer, but exhaustion buzzed in his synth, “Am I hurting him by keeping him here?”

“I think what would hurt him is waking up to you a malfunctioning mess on the floor, Zenyatta,” Mondatta said quietly, “You also know as well as I do that traversing the mountains this time of year is all but impossible. It was a miracle you found him in the snow the first time. No helicopter or rescue crew is going to be able to find the two of you frozen a third of the way to the village if you go now,” 

Zenyatta nodded, “And even then it is another two days to a city of any significant size… I don’t even know where the nearest intensive care unit is…” an airless breath, “But you can probably see that there’s no real reason he hasn’t regained consciousness yet…”

And it was true. Mondatta could scan Genji a thousand times and it would yield nothing more than the suggestion the cyborg was simply in a deep sleep. 

Zenyatta sagged a moment longer against Mondatta before sitting up straight, “I am… sorry Mondatta… for worrying you,” he wasn’t meeting Mondatta’s gaze but he sounded sincere, “It’s just been so long since I’ve been… useless like this,”

“Why do you call yourself useless?” Mondatta countered, “You’ve helped Genji come so far in just a few short weeks. Why, when he first woke up I was worried we would have to incapacitate him again. I was worried for your safety,” 

Zenyatta chuckled weakly, “Well, yes, it was a bit like we had a feral tiger in the temple for a time there,” 

“And then, you decide, my dear might I remind you, you decide the best way to break the tension is to prod that tiger into attacking you,” Mondatta couldn’t keep the scolding tone from his voice but Zenyatta was laughing again. 

“It worked did it not?” 

“It did. And I have no doubt in your ability to help Genji through this latest trial,” He stood, and wiped the handkerchief along Zenyatta’s arm, holding the greasy cloth up with an unhappy waggle, “That is, if you can help yourself first Brother Zenyatta. Remember-,”

“You help No One if you destroy yourself in the process,” Zenyatta echoed Mondatta’s words at the same time, earning a swat with the cloth toward his array. 

“Impudent, my friend,” Mondatta pushed Zenyatta toward the door, “Go. Wash up, find your peace again. I will stay with Genji,” 

Mondatta, seeing the other’s forehead light up with worry, cut off whatever Zenyatta was going to say, “I will find you if anything happens,” 

Zenyatta paused in the doorway, looking between Mondatta who was folding himself into the vacated chair with a prayer book he’d pulled from his sash, and the disturbingly still Genji on the bed. 

“Brother Mondatta…” the words stuck in his synth, but he started again, “Thank you, brother. I don’t know what I would do without you,” 

Mondatta waved a hand dismissively and didn’t look up from his book, “You would have moped a bit more before remembering who you are and figuring out what to do next. As you always have, my dear,” 

“...Thank you,” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

With each pass of the washcloth Zenyatta felt his soul regain some semblance of harmony. Wiping his feet he focused all of his attention on the sensation of dirt and grime being washed away, leaving his wires clean, shining the metal, clearing out anxious thoughts. 

He went slowly, methodically. Not like the anxious rampage he had wrought in his room when each task was just a fruitless distraction from bubbling, helpless fear. Fear that he wasn’t enough to save Genji. Fear that he was the careless cause of Genji’s pain. Fear that Genji wouldn’t wake up. 

Fear that he would… and that when he did he would hate Zenyatta again. 

In the bath house, Zenyatta’s sigh echoed and redoubled back upon him, making him feel claustrophobic. He must regain his inner peace. He must trust in the strength of his student to pull through. 

Zenyatta moved onto his knees and upper legs, still ruminating. Mondatta was watching Genji; Mondatta was skilled and practical and capable.

Mondatta had come to his room because he was worried about him. ‘Rightly so,’ Zenyatta thought as he picked a pebble out of his knee joint. His whole reaction to Genji collapsing had been worrisome. He’d panicked. He’d forgotten every bit of training and experience he had. 

Though, he supposed, he never really had any experience with someone like Genji. Still, it wasn’t an excuse to be falling apart. What if his momentary inaction, his delay in restarting Genji’s heart, had choked oxygen to his brain. What if moving Genji had exacerbated a spinal injury. 

Zenyatta’s fingers froze on while prying loose the cover over his left sartorius cable. What if he’d paralyzed Genji? 

Only the spark of a fraying wire brought him back to his task at hand, and he tried to push that fear away as he repaired it. There had been no sign of an injury, and Genji had fought his hold like a wild animal. No, he was confident that this was mostly a ptsd episode. The fact that Genji had clawed at his body where the most cybernetics had been attached, the non-reaction to Zenyatta’s orbs and voice… Zenyatta replayed the scene once again, trying to spot the trigger. 

Zenyatta traded his washcloth for a scrap of microfiber, dipping it carefully into a container of mineral oil. He gently wiped along the pistons of his neck, tucking his head forward to make sure his capitus cables were evenly coated, following the sternocleidomastoid piston down to his chest plate. 

Genji’s heaving chest, desperate for breath, gasping. Throat working but no air coming in. 

Zenyatta let extra mineral oil drip down his erector spinae, coating delicate connections, forcing air out, and he could already feel strength returning to his back. 

The frightening way Genji’s body spasmed and bowed out, like a fish caught on a line.

Zenyatta carefully picked metal burrs from his hip sockets, lubricating first his right, then left, femoral head and sighed with relief when those joints swung free again. 

Genji’s sobs ringing in his ears, trying to force words out between the screaming. 

His own body locked up when he heard that horrible noise again. Such anguish, such pain radiating from the Genji in his memory banks. A few garbled words, then… 

Zenyatta held the cloth loosely, trying to hear through the chaos of the moment. He was certain Genji has -said- something right before his heart stopped. 

Mineral oil slicked over his finger joints as he squeezed, concentrating. 

Something. A word. Screamed with a world of distorting emotion but it was certainly a word, not mindless noise. Zenyatta could barely parse it. 

An though. And though? And so? Zenyatta shook his head. Genji spoke languages other than english, that he was sure of; even his Nepali was marked by something gliding and rich, vowels clipped and open, intonation rising and falling sharp around unfamiliar words. 

Zenyatta wondered if Genji was Japanese. 

An ominous creak brought him back to the task at hand. Zenyatta made a dissatisfied noise at the sight of a slight warp in the carbon fiber covering of his palm, but it reminded him that Mondatta was waiting for him to return and relieve him from his watch. 

Ignoring the fact that Mondatta would probably rather Zenyatta take more time to himself, he hurried through the rest of his maintenance. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Mondatta read for a time, but found that after twice rereading the same paragraph with no recollection of the words he had to stop and address the spot of discord he carried in his soul. 

“Genji,” Mondatta’s voice was calm and level in the silent room, “I do not know what about you has my brother so transfixed…” 

He looked away from Genji’s prone form. How ugly was he being, to resent a broken man who may yet never awaken. But resent the cyborg he did. He resented how completely this dangerous, unknown man had captivated Zenyatta’s attention and monopolized his time. He hadn’t liked it when Zenyatta had first proposed meditation through combat - his fears proving completely well founded when Zenyatta had recounted the event to him. 

 

~~~~~~

‘Zenyatta you are Not invincible!’

‘Genji was not going to hurt me, Brother Mondatta,’

‘He had his sword to your throat. There are CUTS in your cables - Zenyatta do not turn away from me! I saw them just fine already-’

‘Mondatta I can handle this myself! I do not need you managing my student!’

‘He isn’t your student yet Zenyatta! He’s barely spoken ten words to anyone here, let alone you!’ 

~~~~~~~~~

Mondatta regretted the argument. He’d lost his composure completely. But Zenyatta, for all his wisdom and grace, simply refused to believe anything but the best in others. Time and time again Zenyatta put himself into undue danger just to help those that would just as soon turn against him. 

He clenched his hand tighter on his book remembering the sight of hydraulic fluid dripping sluggishly down Zenyatta’s neck from the fine slits. 

Zenyatta could defend himself, that was certain. Proved time and again in alleyways outside of peace rally venues, though every time almost a little too late - Mondatta had seen him too many times gleaming bright gold afterward, knitting himself back together. But…

“But I swear if you harm him any more than you already have, you will wish you’d never woken up again,” 

He whispered his dark threat, feeling sacreligious in Zenyatta’s quarters, but knowing it had to be said. Zenyatta’s brightness, his joy. His mission. Mondatta could handle the ugly of the world just so Zenyatta could continue to believe the best of it even while dealing with the worst. 

“Mada mada,” 

Mondatta lurched to his feet, facing Genji in shock, “When did you wa-,”

“I’m not good enough…” Genji’s voice was weak, and soft, “for Brother Zenyatta to care about me this much. Should have let me die this time… all the way,” 

Mondatta stiffened, “Genji -,” 

“You’re right. I’m going to destroy him,” 

Mondatta stared coldly at Genji. The only hint that the cyborg was even conscious again was the flickering light of his visor. 

“You certainly think highly of yourself, don’t you,” Mondatta couldn’t keep the hint of bite from his voice, “Zenyatta was right. For someone so filled with loathing you have an insufferable ego,” 

Genji moved now, turned to face the wall like a sulking child. It infuriated Mondatta. 

Before he thought better of it he was next to Genji’s bed with his hands on Genji’s shoulders, hauling him bodily upright. With a frustrated shake, “Why are you HERE Genji?” 

“I don’t know,” Genji was limp, his head hanging low. 

“By the Iris you don’t! Genji, nobody would make that treck in the dead of winter without a reason. Without a mission. If you merely had a deathwish you would have undoubtedly found something quicker than dangling your salvation in front of a good soul like Zenyatta,” Mondatta let Genji’s upper body fall back to the bed with a thump, “Now I ask again: why are you here?” 

Genji turned to look at Mondatta, and though the faceplate was as impassive as ever, a tremor warbled up Genji’s body as an undercurrent to the confused pain Mondatta sensed in the room. 

“I heard… that the Shambali knew how to heal wounded souls… and I thought that… even without a soul that I could find … peace here,” Genji’s words were as soft as his voice modulator could make them, halting. Raw. 

Mondatta felt a little of his anger, ‘Well justified anger!’ he reminded himself, bleed away with pity for the broken man. 

Not knowing how he was echoing Zenyatta’s words from those days ago, Mondatta took a step closer, “You do not think you have a soul Genji?”

“I know I do not,” The reply was automatic. 

“That’s asinine,” Mondatta’s voice was soft again, and he walked close enough to peer his own faceplate toward Genji’s, “Stop this wallowing. Zenyatta and you have… come so far from where you were just a month ago. I see you, now, laughing with the others. Yes I know you’ve not shared a lick of yourself, but you are content to share in them. You cling to Zenyatta’s light like a child afraid of the dark,

Mondatta sighed, “Genji I am sorry. I know that you are hurting and frightened, and here I am taking my own fear out on you,” he perched on the edge of the bed, aware of the fragile moment forming between them. One, he is certain, Zenyatta will not forgive him if he destroys. 

“I have known Zenyatta for many years now. We were both awakened by the Iris at the same time, in the same place. We were drawn together by the Iris, and that power also led us to others like us. He is my brother in faith, in mission, and in as many other ways as can be said. Genji I love my brother more than anything in this world,” Mondatta fixed his gaze on Genji’s faceplate - for once feeling how unsettling it must be for humans to try and parse Omnic interactions bereft of facial expressions. If he had any hint of what was going on beneath that impassive mask… 

“I want to protect him, Genji,” Mondatta finished lamely, knowing there was nothing more he could say than that.

For long minutes the two men were silent. 

“My brother killed me,” Genji finally admitted to the ceiling. 

The clatter of ceramic shattering on the floor cut off anything Mondatta could say in response and he whirled around to see Zenyatta in the door frame, hands pressed over the lower half of his faceplate and array a blinding, horrified white.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning: medical body horror I suppose? not graphic/gross, but viscerally described dislike of one's body

Chapter Three

 

A number of things happened at once. 

In the echo of broken bowls and cups Genji’s words hung in the air like a physical, hurtful thing. Mondatta jolted forward to pick up shards of ceramic, while Zenyatta pushed past him rushing to Genji’s beside. 

“You’re awake! How are you feeling? What happened?” Zenyatta stopped just short of grabbing Genji, his hands outstretched and fingers twitching to touch but kept in check by uncertainty. The sudden noise, the sudden flurry of movement, and the anxiety of his confession all threatened to overtake Genji’s composure once again. Mondatta trying to ask after Zenyatta’s state, Zenyatta ignoring Mondatta to pepper Genji with questions, it was all too much and Genji felt the chaos of the room mirrored in the throbbing ache of his body. He shifted, tried to pull away from Zenyatta, pushing his back against the grounding chill of the wall. 

After a moment both Mondatta and Zenyatta realized his discomfort. Genji’s ears buzzed in the abrupt silence, broken only by his ragged breathing and the soothing chimes of Zenyatta’s orbs circling the room. 

Genji felt the cold pinpricks of adrenaline cover his face, run down what was left of his chest and arm. The sound of blood in his ears quickly overtook the silence in the room and he wheezed, trying to get air into his lungs. His arms trembled and could feel the throbbing ache in his body return full force. Logically he knew that the mask, the cybernetics, were all working correctly to funnel air into his lungs - lung. Lung. He only had one now, the other a mesh of artificial cellular matrix that helped oxygenate the fluid that now served as his blood. 

A creeping, oily horror marched up his throat and Genji wanted to peel his body apart, rid himself of the augments and just be nothing. He couldn’t hear Zenyatta’s soft voice over the roar of his panic, but he did feel the firm pressure of Zenyatta’s open hand on the armor over his sternum. 

“Breathe, Genji,” came the soft command. 

Genji could follow orders. 

An ugly voice shot through his mind, reminding him that if he’d only followed orders before - 

He could do this. Zenyatta was staring at him so softly, array muted politely, hand steady on his chest. The orbs were slowly rolling through the air around them, dipping and peaking like waves on the ocean. Genji tore his eyes from Zenyatta’s optics to watch their chiming dance and he concentrated. In, and out. In, hold, out… slow. Breathe in the calm, breathe out the distractions. In, hold, out, feel his lungs - no. In, hold, out, feel his chest - NO. 

His breath rushed out in a strangled noise as he was trying to recall the pattern, trying to remember his tutors’, remember Zenyatta’s lessons in meditation, but he couldn’t breathe right, couldn’t -

“Cycle in. Cycle out. Genji, listen, listen to me. Breathe in - feel your intake activate, be still, now out, feel the mechanism. Find your new rhythm, Genji,” Zenyatta’s voice was calm, but the authority in it cut through Genji’s panic. He was right. It was different, there was no swell to his chest, no movement of his diaphragm, but there was still a rhythm to ground himself in. 

Genji squeezed his eyes shut, breathing, but too afraid to look at either Monk. Afraid to recognize pity in their body language. 

Modatta was the first to break the silence, “I… will leave the two of you. Genji, I am.” Mondatta paused to collect himself, “Very happy that you are awake,” and with that he was gone in a soft shuffle of robes and deceivingly light footsteps.  
The silence drilled at Genji’s ears, but he had nowhere to begin, couldn’t think of what he could possibly say. He had the urge to joke and turn the whole matter away from consequence but he knew that Zenyatta would not let him escape from this conversation for long. 

He opened and closed his mouth a few times silently, then turned to look at Zenyatta. Strange, peculiar, frustrating, kind, good hearted Zenyatta. 

‘Mada Mada,’ he thought to himself again. He really wasn’t good enough to be here, to be taking Zenyatta’s attention like this. Not when there were others the Monk could actually hope to help instead. 

Zenyatta leaned forward and touched his forehead to the back of his own hand, startling Genji a bit. The Monk was just barely shaking.

He opened his mouth again, finally sure he would be able to force words out from behind his teeth when the Zenyatta burst out, “Genji! I’m so glad you’re alright,” 

The knot in his chest gave an ugly twist, “Why?” he hated how small, how week his voice sounded. He half hoped Zenyatta wouldn’t hear it but omnic senses held no mercy. 

Zenyatta stiffened and straightened up, hand fluttering a bit as if he couldn’t decide whether or not to retract that too. Finally he pulled away entirely and folded those delicately crafted fingers in his lap. Genji fought the urge to lean back into Zenyatta’s space, ashamed at how desperately he wanted that small bit of comfort back. 

“It was quite sudden, what happened. And I did not know if you would awaken again because there were no lingering signs of injury,” Zenyatta looked down at his twisting hands, “I am… just happy to see that you are awake and uninjured,” 

Genji shifted in his bed unhappily, “I’m sorry to be such a burden to you, Br-,” his throat closed a bit and he managed to squeak out a barely intelligible ‘Zenyatta’. 

They sat together in silence for a moment, Zenyatta stock still save for the rapid undulation of his forehead array. In a way it reminded Genji of how stereo lights would pulse to measure sound. Finally the monk’s lights steadied and he jolted a bit, mimicking a burst of sudden realization. 

“Genji, would it be easier if you were to call me… Master?” at Genji’s surprised jerk of his head Zenyatta sat forward and chirped out, “Or Teacher, or Sensei - however is more comfortable to you.” Zenyatta leaned back and affected a heaving sigh to recenter himself, “What I am asking, Genji, is would you like to be my student? You’ve come very far in just this short bit of time being here but I want to help you go farther. I think I can help you.” 

There was no arguing with the earnest honesty in Zenyatta’s voice. And he was right. Genji was different already in these few weeks. And it was all owed to Zenyatta’s meddling. 

“Why?” Genji couldn’t understand it. He was a broken weapon, a broken man. He gripped the thin sheets, feeling the wool shred in his grip and spat out again, “WHY? Why do you think I deserve all of this effort? Why do you think I can be fixed?” 

Genji wished he could cry. Wished there was some way to relieve the burning of his face, the choke of emotion in his throat. He wanted to sob but there was no point if the tears wouldn’t come to wash away the pain. 

Zenyatta’s voice was sad and kind, full of pity Genji knew a murderer like him didn’t deserve, “Genji… I do not know how to make you see that I care simply because you are worthy of that care,” 

Genji had enough sense to keep his self deprecating response to himself, so he clenched his teeth and turned away from Zenyatta.

“You do not need to tell me what is hurting you, Genji. You don’t ever need to share those painful memories. But I know that I can help you come to some measure of peace - if you will allow me to,” Zenyatta spoke to his own folded hands. He canted his head and quickly followed his offer, “But I am sure you are exhausted, and tired of being in bed. I will leave you to yourself for the remainder of the day - do not feel obligated to come to prayers if you are not feeling up to it. And, Genji, do not feel pressured into giving me an answer. Take your time,” 

It all came out in a jumble, and Genji envied the Omnic’s voice modulator. He would have tripped over so many words with his clumsy tongue. When Zenyatta stood to leave, Genji felt the throbbing in his legs pulse unpleasantly and he realized that he did not want the other to leave just yet. 

“Wait!” Genji’s hand flung out and grabbed Zenyatta’s robes of its own accord. His chest felt tight, tongue thick in his mouth. Icicles stabbed their way across his face. He didn’t want Zenyatta to leave him alone with the memory of his own blood dripping down his legs, “Wait, please …Master Zenyatta,” 

Zenyatta turned and gently gripped Genji’s hand in his own, “I will stay as long as your desire, my Student,” 

Genji crumpled forward, sobbing despite his stolen tears. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Zenyatta, true to his word, didn’t question Genji about his past. Instead, their days resumed with the normal meditation, sparring, and conversation - with one addition to their routine. 

When Zenyatta gathered the other Monks after prayer, instead of slipping away Genji sat beside him and listened to his words as his new Master taught the newest Monks about their history, about their philosophy, and about the Shambali’s Mission. Some of the Omnics had only just felt the tug of the Iris, others had only come to the mountains after years of torment living among organics. Some were old and firmly entrenched in terrible memories of the war, and some were young and angry at the world.

Zenyatta would meet some of them head on, with blunt questions and hard answers. Others he had to gentle towards peaceful thoughts. Genji marvelled at how fluid Zenyatta seemed, and how easily his Master changed personas to connect with the omnics and people that came to him for guidance - all without losing the voice and crackling personality that made him Zenyatta. 

Even after months at the Monastery Genji was still having trouble differentiating between individuals of the same model, and the parade of new Omnic faces every day was usually a blur of metal and generic, factory standard features. Even Monks he interacted with everyday, like Sister CODA, he had trouble identifying right off; but he never mistook Zenyatta’s voice for anyone else’s. He never lost track of him in a crowd. He never needed to concentrate on little differences to make sure of who he was talking to. Zenyatta’s personality and life was impossible to mistake. 

Slowly but surely Zenyatta brough Genji back to the world of the living. Genji no longer felt guilty or weak when he came to Zenyatta for help. He would seek his Master out and do his best to explain what he was feeling and Zenyatta would sit next to him and listen to his halting, warbling words. Zenyatta never pressed for more information than Genji ventured forth but he did ask questions of the air, giving Genji the tools to parse through his own memories and traumas. 

‘And what preceded this?’

‘Do you know why such a thing affected you so much?’

‘What other information would They have had to think otherwise?’

They. Genji still couldn’t bring himself to say Hanzo’s name, nor explicitly call him his brother when he spoke. But Zenyatta had heard his confession to Mondatta that day (or so Genji assumed… he was too anxious to ask about it).

“They” loomed large and dark in Genji’s mind. A shadowed figure wrapped in anger, and betrayal, and… grief. Genji spent the last days of winter spitting bile and chipping his teeth on hateful words; and Zenyatta listened. He cursed Them, and raged, and cowered from his memories in equal turns.

And then…

Zenyatta was floating near a wall on the east side of the Monastery, faceplate turned to the barely there dawn and the picture of inner peace when Genji found him. He stopped a short distance away, not wanting to break the beauty of this moment quite yet. 

The far off horizon was bathed in lavender and the golden rays of the sun as the rare cloudless morning dawned. Zenyatta’s faceplate flashed, his copper and golden accents gleaming brightly, all of him warm and bright in the frosty air. Genji noticed that though his Master’s orbs danced around him they never strayed too close to the shriveled leaves of the rhododendron tree Zenyatta was floating next to. Genji smiled to himself; below Zenyatta’s hovering form the was a simple granite bench and a line of slowly spinning prayer wheels. It was all the peace and tranquility of the Shambali and the Monastery condensed into one moment. 

“My student, you may join me,” Zenyatta’s voice crackled through the morning air with a fond chuckle and Genji ducked his head; no, this was Zenyatta, not a generic photo. 

“Sorry to disturb your meditation, Master,” Genji trotted up beside Zenyatta and looked out over the valleys and peaks of the mountains. 

“No apology is necessary, for you are never a disturbance to me, Genji,” Zenyatta turned a bit to look at Genji, array twinkling with mirth, “Good Morning. What brings you out here so early?”

Genji breathed deeply and rolled his head about his shoulders before kneeling in the snow, “I merely wished to meditate with you, Master,” 

Looking down, Genji smiled to see crocus heads budding up through the crust of snow. Spring was here and no matter how short lived the season was, it had always been Genji’s favorite. Wet earth and the sudden riot of color from blooming flowers, animals returning to their homes, ice cracking and rivers running swift with melting snow. It was a time of change and renewal, Genji thought as he settled himself, thankful to Zenyatta, Modatta, the other Shambali for the not small gift of this being the first Spring in years that he was able to stop and appreciate peacefully. 

They sat together for a long while, watching the sunlight spill across the land and race to warm their perch atop the world. Once the sun had fully risen and the bells began to call the other Monks to morning prayers, Genji had finally decided on what he wanted to say. 

“Master…” he began, not getting up quite yet. Zenyatta turned back to him and waited. 

“I would… like to tell you what happened. W-what I remembered the day I collapsed,” Genji hated the tremor in his voice, “I would like it if… if you would sit with me while I tell you,”

Zenyatta floated over and gracefully sank down into the snow, careful to not crush any new blossoms, and leaned himself against Genji from shoulder to knee, “My dear student, I would be honored to listen. Though you need not dredge up trauma this large if you simply wish to skip our morning prayers,” 

Genji threw his head back and laughed at Zenyatta’s conspiratorial whisper, “No! I swear. I just. I,” he paused then admitted, “You do know that I have a hard time listening to Mondatta drone on about the opportunity of dawn before I’ve had my breakfast,” 

Master and Student shared the moment in laughter; both voices modulated and strange, crackling with static and not quite normal because they were, after all, a cyborg and an omnic - but both undeniably human in their joy. 

Genji breathed deep, and the memory of having two lungs no longer caused a hitch in his breath. He exhaled, no longer disturbed by the silence of it. He leaned a little harder against his teacher, his friend, and reached up to remove his faceplate. 

The click and hiss of the galvanized rubber and latches were as loud as a gunshot in the morning air, and Genji sucked in a startled breath at just how cold it still was. 

His squeezed his eyes shut against the now unfiltered glare of the sunlight and snow, and struggled a moment to catch his breath without the filter and intake of his mask. The crisp taste of each breath was not something he’d expected to still be able to enjoy. His hearing was muted substantially without the cybernetics, but he wanted to have this conversation face to face. 

Face to face. 

Face.. to… He couldn’t turn towards Zenyatta. Genji was frozen staring straight ahead at the mountains. What if Zenyatta was disgusted by him? 

Unlikely. Zenyatta judged no one. 

What if Zenyatta treated him differently? Genji thought of the pitying faces of the Blackwatch nurses - sometimes even Dr. Ziegler’s. His stomach churned to think of Zenyatta pulling his punches and softening his edges around him. 

Also unlikely. Zenyatta treated everyone with dignity, and it had been Zenyatta himself who scolded Genji for treating his Omnic Teacher as something fragile in their sparring. 

“Would you like me to gasp in horror?” Zenyatta’s voice was quiet, though Genji didn’t know if he was doing it on purpose or if it was just his deafness without the hearing aids of his mask, “Or would you prefer me to swoon over your roguish good looks? I can also start making tasteless jokes if you would prefer,” 

Genji’s lips quirked and he glanced to the side, still not ready to turn and fully face his Master but appreciating Zenyatta’s irreverent treatment of the moment. 

Zenyatta had turned his face away, but his chassis was still pressed against Genji in support. One delicate hand turned palm up on his knee in a silent offer.

He only hesitated a moment before reaching out and gripping Zenyatta’s hand, “You,” his voice cracked and he imagined that he sounded surer than he was, “You can look now, Master,” 

Silence reigned for a time, and Genji only opened his eyes again when Zenyatta squeezed his hand. Zenyatta was clearly studying his face; his array blinking softly and he made the effort to move his head for Genji, showing the path his optics were tracing. Eventually Genji felt his cheeks heat, another thing he hadn’t given thought to in years. He touched his face gently, marveling that he could still blush. 

Zenyatta shifted and gripped Genji’s hand in both of his, “Genji. I am proud of you, proud of how far you’ve come in your journey,” Genji’s throat felt thick with emotion and his eyes prickled in the wind. Still no tears. 

“Thank you, Master Zenyatta,” 

Gripping Zenyatta’s hand like a lifeline Genji told him a story of two dragons, of two brothers. He talked of family, and duty, and loyalty. He told Zenyatta about high castle walls and walled off hearts and finally, after struggling through the taste of blood and the sound of slashing, he told him about the last joke that Genji Shimada had ever made. 

“I don’t remember much afterwards. I suppose that when Blackwatch found me I was completely unconscious. But when I woke up I could still remember Hanzo’s face when I said it, ‘Once again you’ve bested me, Brother!’ Hah! How stupid… you’d think I could have at least cursed his name with my dying breath,” Genji shrugged, looking down at the shine of Zenyatta’s fingers, “Then again, the reason he had to kill me was because I was a joke anyway. It seemed… appropriate… at the t-,” his nose prickled and his eyes burned and Genji’s voice caught again. 

He looked up at Zenyatta, seeing his own scarred face reflected in a blur across Zenyatta’s faceplate. 

“I... ,” There was more to say. So much more. But all he could think of was, “I wish I could still cry, Zenyatta…” 

Trying to breath through his nose, Genji looked up at the sky, “Thank you for listening to me,” 

“Genji, thank you for sharing your past with me,” Zenyatta shifted again and pulled Genji to him, embracing him and rubbing Genji’s back, “You can still cry, even without your tears. You are safe here, and I am with you. I am with you as long as you desire,” 

And again, Genji clung to Zenyatta as he sobbed.


End file.
